All There Is
by accidentalxxx
Summary: Anders spends what he expects to be his last night with Hawke.  M!Hawke/Anders


"I haven't been avoiding you, Lucas".

Lucas Hawke looks all wrong against the backdrop of the tiny clinic. He's too big, too bright, too ridiculously handsome, to belong in such a dingy little room.

He's like sunshine.

After all these years, my stomach still does that funny little flippy thing when I see him.

I pull at my hair, winding my fingers in it. Nervous habit. It's one of the reasons my hair is always such a mess.

"I've just been... really busy." I say.

Even to me, it sounds pathetic.

"Oh, I know. Boils to lance, festering pustules to attend to…"

He takes a step towards me, reaches out a hand, and for a second I think he's going to touch my face. I tense up - I can't help it. I'm pretty sure he notices, because at the last moment his hand changes direction, lands awkwardly on my shoulder instead. He runs his fingers softly across the ragged feathers on my pauldrons, like he's stroking them.

"I miss you, Anders. You never come home."

His voice is soft, and slightly unsteady.

I glance around at the dozens of sick and injured people all waiting for my attention.

I want to say "I miss you too, love."

I want to take his hand.

Instead, I just brush my fingers lightly against his. I don't trust myself enough to touch him more than that.

"I'm sorry" I sigh. "We'll talk later, I promise."

"I'll wait." He sits down on one of the benches against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and almost immediately a ragged woman, bleeding from a dramatic looking head wound, stumbles past and vomits in a puddle at his feet. The splash only just misses his expensive Antivan leather boots. He's not really dressed appropriately for Darktown. He never is.

"I won't be finished here till late" I warn him, but he just shrugs, and I take the vomit woman's arm and guide her towards a cot in the corner. If I ignore him, he'll soon get fed up and go, I think.

I try to focus my attention on the injured woman, who seems more than a little drunk. As I clean the blood from her face, I can feel him watching me. I have to make a conscious effort not to think about him, or about what I'm going to say.

The lies come so easily now.

Of course I've been avoiding him.

I can hardly bear to look him in the eyes, after all the lies I've told.

~0~

The hours pass quickly, in a blurred procession of coughs and fevers and crying babies. In between patching up wounds and handing out potions, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. After a while, he starts to make himself busy, fetching water and chatting to the patients. Most of them are refugees from Ferelden, like he was. They recognise him. He 's a big deal round here. They love the fact that the champion of Kirkwall is one of them.

It gives them hope.

Once when I walk past he's holding a snotty faced little girl on his lap. He's making up a story about a brave little warhound who becomes king of the Mabari. I watch as he reaches into his pocket and presses something shiny and silver into her grubby hand, squeezing her fingers tight around it. She laughs out loud, and it feels like something squeezes tight around my heart too.

I love him so much it actually hurts.

I never felt like this about anyone before.

I never dared.

It's always dark in the tunnels of the undercity, but somehow, once you get used to it, you start to develop an instinctive awareness of time. The shadows alter subtly, and the sounds around you change with the time of day. By the time my last patients are settled, I know it 's late. My bones ache and my eyes sting. It 's getting difficult to focus them properly.

Hawke's still waiting. He stands there patiently as I invent more things to do - wiping tables that are already clean, counting bags of food, and arranging the potion bottles so they all face the same way on the shelf.

I didn't think he'd wait. I should have remembered how determined he can be, when it's something that matters to him.

I'm just about to give up and put out the lantern that hangs by the front door, when the screaming starts.

It's not even a scream really - It's more like a howl, a keen of agony that sends a surge of adrenaline through me, making my heart race. The sound echoes eerily through the passages, and it soon becomes apparent that whoever's making that awful noise is heading towards us.

"Maker..."

Hawke is at my side. His face looks greenish and ghostly in the dim light.

"It's alright." I try to reassure him. "If they've got the strength to make that much noise, they can't be too badly hurt - It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

"I hope you're right!" He doesn't sound particularly convinced. I'm not convinced either, and I really haven't got the energy to cope with anything complicated. But at the same time, I can't help feeling relieved that I've been given another chance to put off being alone with Hawke.

As we stand there waiting, two terrified looking young boys appear at the top of the steps outside the clinic. They're carrying a third between them, tied to a piece of wood that they're using as an improvised stretcher. He 's still screaming.

"Please help him, Messere!" one of the boys, a skinny little thing with tangled red hair, begs. "He got bit by a spider. We didn't know what to do, but Martin said you helped his uncle when he broke his leg, so we brought him here..."

I help them carry their friend inside and lift him onto one of the tables, but he's jerking and writhing around so much that I can't get a proper look at him.

"Lucas, hold him still for me, can you? "

Hawke still looks pale, but he nods and holds the patient's shoulders back against the surface of the table. I turn to the boy's companions, who have collapsed into a sweaty, panting heap against the wall.

"There aren't any spiders in the city - at least, not the sort that could do this. Where did this happen?"

"We were up in the hills around Sundermount, looking for herbs to sell. There was a cave. We thought there might be something valuable in there, like in the stories."

It must have taken them hours to carry him all this way. Long enough for the venom to spread through his entire body. He's probably too far gone.

"He'll be alright, won't he?"The red haired boy starts crying.

I realise I'm looking at Hawke's arms as he holds the boy down.

He has incredibly muscular arms and shoulders. I didn't like them at first - I thought they made him look like a farm labourer. When I saw him in battle, though, I understood - he swings his staff like a weapon, just as likely to smash his enemies on the head with it as to use it cast spells. And there's a lot to be said for a strong pair of arms wrapped around you in the dark.

"...Anders?"

Startled, I look up into Hawke's dark brown eyes.

"Can you help him?"

"I'm not sure."

Although he's a mage, Hawke's healing skills are basic - they're more like emergency first aid. I spent years training as a spirit healer in the circle, in between my various escape attempts and the resulting periods of solitary confinement, and I've had plenty of chance to practise my skills since.

It 's the only thing I've ever really been any good at.

I start to remove the makeshift dressing the injured boy's friends have applied to his leg. As I unwind the stiff fabric, foul clots of congealed brownish-black blood come away on it. Suddenly fresh blood starts to pulse out, spattering my face where I'm leaning over to examine the wound. The feel of it sickens me.

The boy manages one last shrill cry, and then goes mercifully silent.

Spider bites are foul things. The boy's leg, or what's left of it, is a mess. Jagged splinters of bone stick out through the shredded flesh and muscle. Beneath the knee, the leg seems held on by grim determination alone. Potions and poultices are going to be useless, and I'm already so far beyond exhaustion that it takes everything I've got just to keep upright. I'm not sure I can do this, but I know I can't just watch him die without even trying.

My hands are shaking as I apply pressure to the wound.

Hawke is looking at me.

"Anders?"

I nod wearily."Fetch some Lyrium potions from the back room." I say." I'll see what I can do"

The Lyrium tastes bittersweet. It fills my veins with pure light, like liquid sapphire. My nerves jump. I feel the energy, like static electricity crawling across my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

I channel the healing forces into my hands, and feel it flow through me into the unconscious boy's leg. Everything else fades into the background as I draw the venom out from the patients blood, then I trace my fingers along the fractured bones, the shredded veins, the nerves and tendons, joining the torn edges together. At one point, I have to stop, breathless and clutching dizzily onto the edge of the table for support, and Lucas is there, holding me, brushing the hair back from my face and pressing the little bottle to my lips again until I feel strong enough to carry on.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I pass my hands over the boy's skin, knitting it together, smoothing it out beneath the surface of my palms.

He'll have a hell of a scar, but he's not dead.

When I step away from him, all the strength drains out of me - I feel it go, like a cold wave washing through my body. I stumble against the wall, my head spinning. There's a ringing sound in my ears, and everything's going dark around the edges. I'm afraid I might vomit.

Then Hawke's arms are around me.

Maker...

Even now, like this, his touch undoes me. I try, feebly, to push him away.

"I'm alright" I insist."You're dead on your feet, man!"

"I just need a minute..."

But my legs are like bits of string. I'm too tired to argue, too tired to speak or even think coherently.

The world fades to grey around me, and he's the only thing that's still there.

~0~

At first, I always knew which thoughts and feelings belonged to Justice, and which ones were my own.

It's not like that now. Most of the time, it's hard to tell where my thoughts end and his begin. It's like trying to untangle a ball of thread, when your fingers are slippery and you can't get a grip.

The only time I really know that I'm still me, is when I'm with Hawke.

Justice doesn't approve of Hawke. He thinks he's a distraction, that he makes me weak, confuses me.

He thinks there are more important things than love.

When I'm with Hawke he tends to keep out of the way, but I'm aware of his disapproval, his disappointment in me. I can feel it.

It 's something I hold on to.

It reminds me of what I was.

He'll think I'm weak now, for allowing this. Sitting here, numb and trembling with exhaustion, while Lucas cleans the blood from my face and hands.

I don't really remember how we got back to the estate. I hope he didn't have to carry me. Things are already bad enough, without being lumped around like a fainting maiden by my heroic boyfriend. I'd never hear the end of that one.

Hawke's removing my coat now, struggling a bit with the various straps and laces. He's never very patient with things like that. Normally I'd help him.

I close my eyes and try not to think about him undressing me.

He manages to get me out of my coat, and I feel oddly vulnerable without it, like I'm missing a protective layer. Now there's only the thin fabric of my shirt between his hands and my skin, and I can feel the warmth of his palms as he rests them on my shoulders.

"You've got so thin, love…"

"I forget to eat sometimes. There's so much to do..."

"You should let me look after you." he says.

My eyes start to sting, and before I realise what's happening, the tears are spilling down my face and onto my shirt to form a cold, wet, patch around my heart. And then he's kneeling in front of me, looking right into my eyes, and the concern on his face is enough to choke the breath from my lungs.

"Anders, love, tell me what's happening."

"I can't..."

" I can help you!

"I shake my head. If I tell him, he'll try to stop me.

I can't let him stop me - Justice would never allow it.

And then his arms are around me, holding me close. I'm too weak to fight, and it feels so good to be held like this again. I lean against him and bury my wet face against his neck. His hair is in my eyes and mouth, and it smells of smoke and outdoors, and that expensive sandalwood stuff he puts in his bathwater.

I wish we could stay like this forever, but there's no forever left.

It will all be over soon.

I try not to think about after. It 's better to assume there won't an after, for me. I can accept that. I'd rather be dead than see him look at me with hatred, or pity, in his eyes. And I'm so tired. I'm too tired to think about anything, really.

Just the smell of him, and the reality of his body pressed up close against mine. That's enough, for now.

And maybe I could sleep, like this, in his arms.

~0~

My heart slams like a fist against the inside of my ribcage, waking me 's a sick, panicky sensation in my guts, and I feel like I want to run.

I'm getting almost used to it, the fear.

I'm frightened all the time now.

Moonlight angles in through a gap between the curtains, and paints the familiar room in muted shades of grey. I lay very still, trying to make myself breathe slowly and calmly, while my heartbeat steadies and things gradually start to take shape around me. I'm in Hawke's bed, where I used to feel so safe. I remember how I used to pull the heavy silk curtains closed around us, and try to pretend that nothing else exists.

Just me and him, clinging to each other in the dark.

Hawke is asleep beside me, the fingers of one hand curled loosely around mine, as if he held my hand while we slept.

He's laying on his back. His chestnut hair looks almost black in the moonlight - a halo of dark feathers spread out around his head. lHe ooks younger than he is. Even after all these years, after everything he's been through, he still has a sort of innocence about him. He does his best to hide it behind all the stupid jokes and the sarcasm, and maybe I'm the only person who really sees it, these days, but it's one of the things I treasure most about him.

He always tries, at least, to do the right thing.

And this is all wrong.

I should go, before he wakes up. But it's so long since I allowed myself the luxury of just looking at him like this.

My Lucas.

My love.

My shining light.

His lips are parted slightly. I lean closer, remembering the feel of them against my skin.

I want to breathe him in.

I want to touch him, and when I go there will be tiny, invisible traces of him on my fingertips, and I can take him with me.

His eyes flicker eyes, soft and warm as velvet. "Hello" he whispers, and he smiles, and I can't help smiling back, even though it feels like my face is breaking.

He reaches up to push back a strand of hair that's fallen across my face, and then his hand is on the back of my head, and he pulls me gently, but firmly, towards him, until our lips meet. His mouth tastes faintly of Lyrium.

His hand tangles itself in my hair, pulling me towards him more urgently, and he presses the whole length of his body against mine, and I know it's selfish, but I need him so much, just this one last time, before everything ends.

I push him back against the pillow to kiss his throat, and he lets out a soft, breathy little groan that I feel like an electric shock through my chest and stomach, and down into my balls. Moonlight picks out the scars across his chest in silver, and I trace them with the tip of my tongue, feeling the faint crackle and hum of magic beneath his skin.

"Anders…"

I feel the callouses on his palms as he grips my shoulders, and then somehow he shifts and I'm suddenly beneath him, pinned to the bed by the weight of him. His hips grind down against mine and I can feel his hard cock pressing against my belly.

"You never come home. I thought you didn't want me any more."

His voice is low and deep and burning with need, and I feel his breath warm against my lips. I kiss the stubble on his face.

"I'll never stop wanting you, love".

"Do you want me now?"

He reaches down and strokes his fingers lightly across the front of my trousers, where my erection strains desperately against the constricting fabric.

"More than anything", I whisper, and we're kissing again, his lips hot and wet against mine, his tongue filling my mouth while he pulls my clothes down over my hips and curls his fingers around my cock.

I arch against him, thrusting into his hand, parting my legs so that his weight sinks down onto me even more. I want to feel crushed beneath him. His hand slides down to his cock, and I rub my thumb gently across the head and he moans again. I feel his teeth against my neck.

And just for a few minutes, this is all there is. Nothing else exists. Not Justice, or the Templars, or the terrible thing I'm going to do. Not even my aching heart.

Ther'es only his lips, and the heat of his hands against my skin, and the unbelievable sensation of his body pushing into mine as we rock against each other.

All there is.

Me and Hawke, clinging to each other in the dark.

~0~

In battle, Hawke has a habit of running headlong into the action without a thought for his own safety.

It terrified me at first, but over the years I developed my own way of protecting him. Whatever else is going on, I always know instinctively exactly where he is, and what he's doing. I keep my distance, and if he's surrounded by enemies, I'll use everything I can to keep them back. If he's hurt, I'll be ready with a healing spell almost before he notices. I don't think he's even aware of it, most of the time, but for years now I've made it my job to look out for him.

And now I'm about to break his heart, and bring his whole world crashing down around him.

Maybe they're right when they call me an abomination.

It's almost daylight. There's a narrow ribbon of sky visible through the gap in the curtains now, and it's beautiful - pearl grey, candy-striped with ragged, pink edged clouds. Lucas is laying sleepily in my arms with his head against my shoulder, and somewhere outside there's a blackbird singing. I stroke my lover's face. I kiss his head and breathe in the scent of his hair, and wish there was a way of capturing all this and keeping it with me, like a charm against whatever waits ahead.

"Promise me something" I say.

"Depends what" he mumbles. "You know I don't do children or animals…"

"Please, Lucas..."

" Is this where you suggest a threesome with Isabela?"

He's doing that thing he does with other people, hiding his feelings behind a defensive wall of smart-arse remarks. I understand exactly why he does it, because in the past, before Justice, I used to do the same thing. But there's no time now. I take his face between my hands and kiss him, deeply and urgently, almost violently.

It reminds me of our first kiss, all those years ago. When it's over, we're both breathless.

"Promise me," I gasp, "Whatever happens, promise me you'll never doubt that I love you."

He pulls himself out of my embrace, and he looks suddenly very vulnerable. His eyes are dark, and glittering with tears he refuses to let fall, and I realise that he knows I've lied. He knows I've misled him and kept secrets from him.

He knows, and he's afraid, but he's decided to trust me.

He says "There's nothing you could do that would ever make me doubt that."

I'm not sure if my heart bursts then, or if it breaks.

Justice is wrong.

Hawke doesn't make me weak.

He makes me strong.

It's Hawke's love that gives me the courage I need to do this. I can do it for him - to make a world that's worthy of him, a world where people like us will be able to fall in love without fear.

Justice is wrong about that too. Nothing is more important than love.

It's all there is.

I reach out to touch my beloved's face, and just for a moment, the tips of my fingers glow, faintly, almost imperceptibly, blue, in the early morning light.


End file.
